


Appealing Topography

by HoloXam



Series: Soup Kitchen After Everything [3]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Ace Oscar, Asexual Character, Asexuality Spectrum, Character Study, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, HOT ZOLF RIGHTS, M/M, No sexual content but rated for discussions of sexual activities, Queerplatonic Relationships, Questioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27302449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoloXam/pseuds/HoloXam
Summary: Oscar is very well-versed in the topographic wonder that makes up Zolf Smith. Zolf is hills and valleys, insulated with softness all around and weathered granite bedrock below.However.That's not what Oscar's affection is about.
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Series: Soup Kitchen After Everything [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971223
Comments: 21
Kudos: 91





	Appealing Topography

**Author's Note:**

> This fic had me banging my head against the wall, yelling at my mental Oscar to stop being so goddamn _horny_ for Zolf all the time. He didn't want to do that, but we came to a compromise.  
> So here's a little exploration of (sex favourable) ace Wilde for you all:) 
> 
> Happy ace week!

The thing is, sex has very little to do with love, in Oscar's point of view.

Sure, the two go well together, like coffee and cigarettes in the morning, or sunshine and the ocean, but Oscar has fucked people he didn't even _like,_ loved people he couldn't bring himself to fuck, and though people who've known him by reputation might ask what on earth he is up ~~in~~ to these days, well. 

He really can't be bothered to care what anyone else might think. 

Mind you, it's not that he doesn't appreciate the finer details of, say, Zolf's biceps, or his chest with its curly white hair over that delicious ratio of muscle to fat, or his hips and their culmination in the roundness of his belly, or his strong, calloused hands, or his _arse,_ which speaks for itself— no, Oscar is _very_ well-versed in the topographic wonder that makes up Zolf Smith. 

Zolf is hills and valleys, insulated with softness all around and weathered granite bedrock below. 

Comparing that sturdy dwarven muscle mass to the makeup of the mountains might earn him a scolding and a lesson in dwarven customs, and should he get cheeky enough to describe Zolf's eyes as emeralds, so much more's the matter, but that doesn't necessarily make it wrong; Zolf is more handsome than he has any right to, and while he may not have been made to be worshipped, he grows more and more into something divine every day. 

_However._

That's not what Oscar's affection is about. 

For all that he admires the physical manifestation, for all the times he'll get up in Zolf's lap and hold him so, so tight, thick arms settling securely around him, sexual activities don't seem to be necessary at all. Oscar expected to miss it, to long for the intense intimacy of moans and sweat and sensation, but, he doesn't.

Maybe he never did. 

And it's not that he hasn't had _fun,_ not that he hasn't felt indulgent and on top, not that fucking hasn't been _amazing._ And, at times, a useful tool. 

A way to charm or cause outrage, or both, a little private game of will they won't they, with a tally in the back of his diary. 

A way to achieve intimacy, a way of using a display of himself as a decoy for a more… _honest_ display of himself. To himself? 

These days, he doesn't need a decoy. 

The intimacy is stored in their bookshelves, in the (sometimes not so) gentle knock on Oscar's door in the morning, in the smell of coffee permeating their home, in the creaking floorboards, in the lazy mornings in the kitchen, in the communal trips to the market, in his head's place on Zolf's shoulder in the candlelight at night when Zolf reads to him because his eyes are better than Oscar's in the low light. 

He doesn’t put it to Zolf in so many words. Zolf who, in his own words, doesn't give a toss about sexual relations. Zolf, who Oscar finds maddeningly handsome. 

It takes him a while to figure out how to mentally separate the two – to realise that he can appreciate a pretty face in a different way than he thought he was doing. That he can be – and maybe he _is –_ more into aesthetics than into sexually deconstructing a carefully put together appearance. 

Now, Zolf is not carefully put together. He has developed under heat and pressure, raw and rough and perfect as he is, Oscar thinks. 

“Do you find me attractive?” he asks Zolf one day, suddenly worried that his efforts in front of the mirror go unnoticed, that the relationship is unbalanced, and not in his favour. That the fact that he gets lost staring whenever Zolf takes off his shirt (which happens more often than really is sensible), is somehow him yearning for something he can’t have, or doing something he isn’t allowed to. 

Zolf raises his eyebrows, looking at him incredulously. “Oscar,” he says in that voice that implies that _this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard with my own two ears,_ and Oscar swallows because, is it a stupid question because the answer is _yes,_ or because the answer is _no?_

“Don’t do that — _I_ know I’m devilishly handsome. I’m asking you if you care about that fact at all.” 

Zolf takes his face in both hands, looking directly into his eyes.

“Oscar,” he says again, and Oscar feels like an idiot under that gaze. “You are a _very_ handsome man. Your backside is a work of art. Of course I find you attractive.” 

“Oh,” Oscar says faintly, getting a little lost in the emerald of Zolf’s eyes. “Good, then.” 

“Is this a sex thing?” Zolf asks, tilting his head. 

“No,” Oscar says. “Apparently it isn’t.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> If you want to say hi on another platform, I'm on twitter & tumblr @ holoxam.


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